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I’ve got twenty minutes to try to put something down before driving the kids to school, so hopefully this post will be at the very least coherent, if not inspiring.

First, a brief explanation of why I have still continued to struggle to write. One, I seem to have some sort of writer’s block. I’ve probably got sixty or seventy drafts, but as you can tell, I haven’t published a single post since last year. Secondly, I’m pretty sure that being a single parent (or any parent for that matter!) of young children, constitutes a sufficient distraction in itself. Couple that with ADHD, grieving, trying to keep my nose above water, and the continued attacks that our family still seems to be enduring, I’ve found it hard to write.

But I’ve WANTED to. Oh, how I’ve wanted to. Sharing our journey with you through this blog has been so much of an encouragement to me, a place for me to organize my own thoughts, and a blessing to be able to look back through as a sort of diary of the craziness of the last several years. I have so much I want to share. I also have a confession to make. Perhaps part of my not writing has been my own sin of pridefulness. I don’t know why, but it was much easier for me to ask for help when Kevin and I were fighting his cancer than it has been as “just” a single mom, struggling to get by with two little kiddos. I endured some small criticisms in the early weeks after Kevin died, and was shell shocked by how completely my world was turned upside down. I was adjusting to Kevin’s death, my own seeming death with him as his wife, and my new birth as a young widow, single mom, maybe even superhero. But deep down inside, I was hurt by those small criticisms and probably even began to internalize my own thoughts of judgment on single moms, and I somehow started to operate on the delusional idea that I would prove to everyone that I could do it on my own. And of course, I failed miserably.

But I’ve only got about 15 minutes left, I’ve blockaded myself in a room to avoid distractions, and the natives are getting restless, so my thoughts on pride and humility will have to wait for another day. Let’s just say, God is humbling me. Yet again. While continuing to be as faithful as He ever has been. God bless him. Can I say that? Anyway, you know what I mean.

So, some of you may have seen some pics or other comments bouncing around Facebook about Team Hill being on the west coast, and I’m here to tell you it’s true! Here’s the super abridged version.

After Kevin died, the kids and I stayed with some friends in California for a few months, and then made our way back to our house in Atlanta. We got there around Easter of 2014, and I’m pretty sure the kids subsisted on Easter Candy and Lucky Charms for that first week or so. Oh and we watched Frozen. A lot. I think I could write a very deep literary analysis of that film at this point.

We all slowly started to recover and adjust to life in Atlanta. The house was thrashed from you know, a tree falling through it and two and a half years of traveling the country to fight cancer. There was a lot of get home, drop everything, never get things properly put away, buy random crap because we can’t figure out where something is, race to the emergency room, get on another plane… well, you get the idea.

Oh yeah, and our house got infested with termites. And we got hit by a car. Again. And it took six months to get the kids’ health insurance thanks to lovely government bweauracrcy, during which I had to take Jude not one, but two times to the emergency room. I will be forever grateful to the good folks at Children’s hospital for writing off those two gigantic bills.

Slowly we worked towards finding a new normal in Atlanta, but we were struggling. After much, much, MUCH (and still continuing!) prayer, we followed God’s leading back to Los Angeles. What?! Kevin and I were trying to get the heck out of Los Angeles! We couldn’t afford to live there! And I DEFINITELY can’t afford to live there.

Okay eight minutes, sorry I get distracted easily.

Even so, God seemed to very clearly close doors for school options for Jude and Evie in Atlanta and seemed to be opening the door and calling us back to Village Christian School.

We took a trip out here over spring break last year, and the cover of the church bulletin where we attended that first Sunday proclaimed, “Come Home.” My first thought was, it doesn’t get any clearer than that does it? But then I of courses started to make my brain hurt by thinking, wait does that mean God wants us to come BACK home to Atlanta? Where is our home? What is home? How can I feel at home anywhere without Kevin, my partner, my best friend, my helpmate? I thought and prayed a lot that week and wrote a LOT of pro and con lists. By the end of the week, I’d pretty much convinced myself that, with no clear calling from God in either direction, Atlanta or Los Angeles, we should do what was most wise, which was clearly to stay put in Atlanta. I mean, we bought a house in the hood at the bottom of the market folks. That’s pretty much the only reason I can survive on widow’s benefits (long story, but our life insurance got cancelled bc Kevin got diagnosed with cancer two weeks after we got it…be ye not so stupid… GET LIFE INSURANCE STAT!) Anyway, I was totally sure that this trip was just going to be a nice visit with dear friends, but that we would be heading back to Atlanta and just do our best to figure out something about school there.

Then we walked onto the Village Christian School campus. Now keep in mind that Kevin attended Village from 1st through 12th grade. He worked there in the technology department for several years before we moved to Atlanta. And I worked there as well as a bus driver. As I walked with the kids across this beautiful wooded campus, nestled against the protective bosom of the Los Angeles mountains, I felt safe, I felt at peace, I felt like I was home. Literally EVERYone knew us. They knew and loved Kevin and walked with our family through this journey. Many folks on campus had known Kevin for longer than I did. The children kept turning to me in amazement, as one person after another came over to smother us with hugs and kisses and words of love and encouragement. I think my kids were starting to think that Daddy was some kind of celebrity or something.

We have worked like the dickens to get everything ready to come out here for the school year, and we have made a HUGE leap of faith, especially financially. But God has been so so faithful, and from the moment we got off a plane a week ago, He has given me one sign after another of affirmation that we are exactly where we are supposed to be.

The kids had their first day at Village on Monday. Jude is in kindergarten with Dear Mrs. Vegas, who was so glad we’d made it out and told me that she’d been praying so hard for us that we’d get here safely. And boy we needed those prayers, there is still so much left to be done in Atlanta to get the house ready to rent (we’re going to try to do airbnb, so keep the Team Hill Fortress of Solitude in mind if you’re ever making your way to Atlanta). Evie is in Junior Kindergarten with the amazing Mrs. Donnelly. Evie has been over the moon excited to come and go to real school and has been writing letters to Mrs. Donnelly all summer long.

Okay, I’m out of time! But please pray pray pray for us. Pray for me that I can continue writing and sharing. Pray for the Lord’s continued provision for energy and health for me and the kids and that I will be wise with our finances and budget. Pray as we move into an apartment this afternoon (I found a place on Monday, and it was SO divine provision!) We will be living in Montrose, and the apartment has a pool, so everyone is invited over once we’re settled! Fair warning though, you may be sitting on the floor because I’ll be giving all my money to rent and school tuition, but who needs couches anyway? I DO need a bed though, so if anyone has any leads on something that seems like it would be healthy for my back (After two car accidents I’m not in awesome shape, ugh!) and that would be from a known source… google has me totally freaked out about bedbugs! That may be the one thing I splurge on and buy new. But I know that I need to get back to asking and sharing my needs, because maybe one of you just bought a brand new bed that you hate and were just waiting for Rachel Hill to reach out and ask you for it. We pretty much came out here with nothing, as we’ll be renting our house in Atlanta furnished. But other than a bed, I can get by and slowly furnish the place. That’s the lease of my worries.

We continue to be attacked, all kinds of random things, and I am choosing to believe that Satan is running scared and trying to get me down. I am choosing to take that as further confirmation that we are on the right path. I got a random parking ticket for not turning my wheels when parked on a hill. I am having horrible pain in my mouth and think I’m going to need ANOTHER root canal (seriously I’ve spent so much of my savings last year just on dental work!) Our car took a week longer than it was supposed to to get shipped out here. And it continues. But I believe I’m starting to be able to discern, at least some of the time, when these things are attacks, and when they are God closing a door. At the same time that I just feel we are getting picked on, I feel God’s arms close around us, guiding us through the minefield, making a way.

Okay I’ve got to get these kids to school. I will try to write again SOON, I promise!

I cannot tell you the number of times I have tried to simply sit down and write. I have so many things I have wanted to share with you all throughout this past year. Whether satan keeps managing to distract me or life just keeps getting in the way or simply the fact that many days I’ve had to just focus on breathing, I have left so many things unsaid and in darkness for far too long. So now, whether it makes much sense or not, I have issued an ultimatum to myself that I will just sit down and write, and no matter what comes out, I will hit the publish button this morning.

One year.

Has it truly been almost one year?

I feel like it can’t be possible, it feels like yesterday, yet I also feel like I have grown and changed so much more than could ever be possible in just one year.

It makes me think of that first year of life with our children. In one short year, they go from completely helpless, utterly dependent, crying and pooping, beautiful little messes who can’t even hold their little heads up to tiny persons who can walk and talk and exercise their will on the universe. I’m not sure there is any other time in a person’s life when they undergo such rapid change and growth.

Did any of you throw a birthday party for your one year old? We did. But it really wasn’t a party for Jude. I mean he napped through at least half of it. We threw a party to celebrate not just how much he had grown, but how much WE had. A party to celebrate that we’d survived that first year of parenthood and somehow managed to keep the baby alive.

One year.

It’s been almost one year since Kevin died.

One year since I died with him.

One year since I was born into a new life and a new identity.

One year and I’ve managed to keep myself and my kids alive.

One year where I have gone through untold seasons of darkness and doubt but have also experienced unspeakable life and light and joy.

This calls for a celebration.

This coming Sunday, December 21, please join my family for the 4th Annual Hill Family Chili and Cornbread Supper. Come anytime from 3:00 on and stay as long or as little as you wish. We will have, appropriately, chili, and cornbread. There will also be punch and pie. Because more people will come if you have punch and pie. Don’t bring anything but your warm bodies and hungry appetites. Help our family as we step out of the darkness and back into the light of life.

This is Josh, Rachel’s brother. Sarah (our sister) and I flew to LA after Christmas to help with arrangements for the memorial service, which went off without a hitch Thursday Jan 2nd at 4pm at Village Church.

The memorial service Thursday was… amazing. The pews were literally filled with people touched by Kevin. Friends made the program, organized worship songs, and set up a reception area. Kevin’s childhood friend Will gave a touching eulogy. It was especially meaningful to me because it gave us all insight into the person Kevin was before we met him. He was truly a gentle soul with big thoughts. I’m afraid parts of the service were a blur to me. Sarah, Rachel, and I sat in the front row crying. We killed off at least one box of tissue between us.

After the service we all moved to a large adjacent room for food and a reception, lovingly assembled by his friends. Again we were amazed by the number of friends and family who filled the room. Rachel talked and remembered with so many people while the kids ran around socializing and munching on cookies. Marilyn helped her take a time out when it became overwhelming, then Rachel rallied her courage and returned to greet more friends.

The night before the service I stayed up late putting together a photo montage. Rachel’s photo archive was stuck in Atlanta so I pulled photos from Facebook and scanned the snapshots Kevin’s friends personally handed me. In the end I think this was appropriate. We used only photos so meaningful they had been saved and shared by those who loved him. It was a beautiful vision of the full life he had lived; the people he had touched. I will post the video after the second service in Atlanta.

In the few days since the service life has slowed. The kids have mostly moved back into the rental house with Rachel. Sarah flew home to Atlanta Saturday morning and I will go home to Oregon Monday. Saturday Rachel and I took the kids to the Santa Monica for some relaxing down time. Jude road his balance bike on the boardwalk. They ate some ice cream of the future, (cookies ‘n cream, as I recall). We took the kids on carnival rides then soared above the beach on the ferris wheel, Jude all the while snapping away with his camera. After an hour of playing on the beach we drove to visit Aunt Kay and Cousin Claudia for dinner. The tired children fell asleep on the car ride back to Burbank. A day of semi-normalcy.

Rachel will stay in Burbank for two weeks, packing up the rental house and shipping things home. On the 18th she will fly home with the kids for the memorial service in Atlanta, then decide the next steps.

Next steps. That’s a hard phrase to say, but it’s reality. The Hill family has been fighting melanoma for two years. 100mph to zero would be a hard transition even if Kevin was with us. This new tighter family needs time to find it’s sea legs. I’m afraid no clever metaphor can ease this loss. Only the Lord can do that. They are taking life one day at a time, knowing that as this chapter ends a new one begins. What does this new chapter hold? We only know that they never walk alone.

I can’t exactly remember the moment that Kevin and I called each other boyfriend and girlfriend. I suppose I should, because it was a really big deal to me. He was my first and only boyfriend. But I of course remember the moment, just a few months later, when he got down on one knee and proposed, then surprised me with an engagement party where I happily told everyone and anyone who would listen that “Kevin was my fiancé!”

And one of my absolute favorite memories was, the morning after our wedding, waking up next to him and saying, “Hi husband.” And him saying to me, “Hi wife.” I remember it feeling so silly and odd and fun, yet comforting and normal all at the same time. Saying fiancé was just plain fun because it sounded so fancy. And since we’d had a two and a half month engagement (Which I highly recommend, by the way!) I’d only just gotten used to saying fiancé when it was time to switch to husband. I loved it, and loved it even more when I would accidentally start to say “fian-I mean, husband.” Which of course let everyone know that we were newlyweds because I wasn’t used to saying it yet.

I loved the sense of inclusion that being husband and wife made me feel. Kevin agreed. Before we started dating, all his usernames were things like 3rdwheel. Almost all of his friends were already married, and he had been the lone single guy in his core group for quite a while. When we started dating, and especially when we got married, we felt included as part of the “in crowd.” For me, who had struggled my entire life with making friends, this was an especially big deal. I suddenly was welcomed into this group of friends that Kevin had known since childhood and they were, consciously or not, excited to be able to share all the fun things that being a couple meant.

As our marriage deepened over time, both Kevin and I became closer and closer, not so much craving the feeling of inclusion amongst all our married and couple friends, but enjoying the sense of deep satisfaction and comfort that came from being a part of Team Hill, a dynamic duo that could conquer the world if we chose to. I loved more than anything the deep knowing that someone loved me unconditionally, not because they had to, but because they chose to. And the fact that this person loved me, knowing each and every one of my flaws more intimately than anyone in the world, well that was just the icing on the cake.

I loved it when Kevin would introduce me or refer to me as his wife. I suppose there’s a reason that Jesus uses marriage as an analogy for His relationship with humans. That sense of being chosen, loved unconditionally, and knowing that there was one person in the world who, even if he didn’t always take your side, would always always always be on your team. And once we held our own “only begotten son” in our arms, we happily tried on even more new names…mother, and father. I think in that moment, we first began to truly glimpse just the tiniest bit of how God could love us beyond all imagination, even when we were a screaming, squalling mess.

Last week I started to try on a new term – widow.

I am a widow.

My husband is dead. Now he is my “late” husband.

I am a single mom.

I am alone.

I know that the Sunday School answer is that you are never truly alone, and that Jesus is all you need, but let’s be honest here. Jesus can’t reach out and wrap his arms around me as Kevin did, even as he lay dying. Jesus can’t go to work and pay the bills for our family or teach my son how to play baseball or how to ride a two wheeler. Jesus can’t walk my daughter down the aisle at her wedding. Jesus can’t fix the kitchen sink (although if I’m honest, Kevin probably couldn’t have either 😉 Jesus can’t manage our family’s finances or talk things through with me until two in the morning or entertain my zany ideas and then bring me back to reality while still letting me hang onto my dreams. Jesus can’t sit on my porch with me and have a cup of coffee and watch the sun rise, his hand protectively on my knee or his fingers laced through mine.

I believe in God. I truly do. And I believe in the Christian understanding of God, and the mystery of how he sent His only son, in human form, to offer the ultimate sacrifice that would allow us to be in relationship with Him. I believe in the mystery of it all, even when I don’t understand it. I’ve thought it through many times, multiple times a day on most days. I sit and wonder if I’m just talking to an imaginary friend, or voices in my head, or if I’m just praying and talking about God to make myself look spiritual in front of others, and that probably not, otherwise why would I be praying even when no one else is watching? I sit and ponder it all through because God, well he isn’t something we can feel in the way we were created to feel. We can’t touch Him, see Him, breathe in His scent that has not yet washed away from his clothing.

Yet where I ultimately end up is, what’s the alternative? Nothingness? No purpose or plan to our life here on earth? No meaning to the misery and suffering? And that ALL the crazy, amazing things that have happened in Kevin’s and my life must be attributed to chance?

Well, honestly, none of that makes much sense either.

In my doubting, Kevin would tell me again and again about Peter, who even as his world and everything he had believed in was crumbling around him and nothing made sense, said to Jesus, “Where else would we go?” [John 6:68]

Like I said, what’s the alternative?

For whatever reason, every single time, every. single. time… I always end up coming around that it would be harder for me to make the case not to believe in God than to believe in Him. And for me, the next step from that is that it makes much more sense to believe that God is completely powerful, completely good, and that none of this is a surprise to Him. And my being able to believe that in the midst of all this is miracle enough to prove to me that God is with us.

There will be plenty of time for me to explore theodicy (Kevin would be so proud of me), but for now, I simply rest that even in my pain, God is still with me, He is still good, and He is still in control.

Which means that whether I feel it or not, I am not alone.

Yes, I am a widow, and that is a rather surreal hat to wear. I am a single mom, and that reality has come crashing down on me faster than anything else. I am alone in the sense that my earthly marriage with Kevin is over and he is no longer a part of Team Hill with me. Having felt alone for so much of my life in one way or another, I had a precious eight years (nine if you count our dating) where I felt the love of Jesus in a physical, tangible way that went beyond all comprehension. In my marriage to Kevin, I often felt “Christ with flesh on” as our good friend Bob used to put it. I’m fully aware that eight awesome years are more than many people have even in thirty or forty years of marriage.

I feel alone and lost and I imagine I will feel this way for a long time.

I’m not going to end this by saying it’s all going to be okay and that I’ve figured out how to depend on Jesus alone, knowing our marriage was merely the tiniest of a shadow of what true, unconditional love looks like. I wish I could just say that. It certainly would sound very spiritual and start tying things up and setting the stage for the next chapter of my family’s life quite nicely. But honestly, I don’t know what I feel. I hope I can find a way to depend on “Christ alone” as the song says. It took me a while to learn how to depend on Kevin alone. It took me a while to learn how to sleep in the same bed with another person, how to share everything in life even more than I ever did with my own twin sister. It took a long time to learn how to let go of my own single girl independence and become interdependent and then completely dependent on another person. I believe that the Sunday School answer, “Jesus is all you need” can be true. People say it for a reason. The Bible tells us this is true. But just as it took time to learn how to be truly a part of Team Hill, this will take time. It will take time to learn what it means to be a widow, a single mom, alone in this world, yet never truly alone. This will all take time, and I pray to God, who I’m pretty sure I believe in, to allow me all the grace and time I need.

Peace to you all, and thank you again and again and again for all of your love, prayers, support, and unfailing faith that there is goodness in the world if we only choose to see it.

The Los Angeles memorial service celebrating the life of Kevin Hill will be held on Thursday January 2nd at Village Church Burbank at 3216 W. Victory Blvd. Burbank, CA 91505 at 4:00 pm.

The Atlanta memorial service will be held on Tuesday January 21st at Trinity Anglican Church at 2270 Defoor Hills Rd NW, Atlanta, GA 30318 at 6:00 pm.

In lieu of flowers the family requests you consider making a contribution to Jude and/or Evie’s 529 plans (college/trust fund). You can visit http://hillfamilyfighters.weebly.com/bills–money.html to see several ways to contribute to the family as well as how to contribute specifically to the children’s college funds.

Many of you have known or had experiences with Kevin (throughout his life) that Rachel would like to capture. Therefore so she has asked that friends, family and acquaintances comment below to leave any memories, antidotes, thoughts, funny stories or remembrances of Kevin so that she and the kids may have them for posterity.

Thank you for taking the time to think through or pray about your personal note and as always thank you for your love and support.

Kevin went to be with the Lord at 3:00 am this morning (December 24th).

We had a wonderful day with him. We let him “sleep in” yesterday morning to conserve his energy. We had a family Christmas celebration yesterday morning where Kevin came out to the chair in the living room. Rachel and the kids opened so many wonderful presents that you all had sent them and were delighted with joy.

Kevin was able to give Rachel a hug as he was getting help getting back in bed and it was a true gift to her.

They were able to get some wonderful family pictures together.

Some old friends came by to sing and worship with Rachel and Kevin. It was beautiful.

Later a choir came by to sing Christmas hymns. That was also beautiful.

All day today we could tell that Kevin was getting closer to (as hospice puts it and we sarcastically joke) his “final journey”.

Once the house quieted down and midnight approached, Rachel crawled up in the bed next to Kevin and fell asleep.

Ashley got on one side and I got on the other and we prayed and talked to Kevin – telling him it was ok to let go and dreaming out loud of all the things he may be about to encounter. We turned on the Trinity Worship and Prayer album and let it repeat over and over as we sang and the hours passed.

As the time grew near, an old friend of Kevin’s showed up and came in the room and joined us. We let Rachel sleep right next to Kevin until the very end. Then we woke her. He took his last breaths and we embraced Rachel and sobbed. It is over. Kevin’s suffering is over.

I wish he could tell us what it was like – entering glory.

I think Kevin might be on the greeting committee for each of us and I told him so.

It was the most peaceful process I have ever seen. Truly, God is with us.

Kevin is the most unique and gentle men I have ever met. I joined Rachel as she opened his “If I die” file today. That man prepared the way for his wife. His file showed his steadfastness and commitment to protect and provide for his family, but also his humor. There were many laughs as we read through it.

What a way to end the Advent season…watching and waiting for the Lord to come to a dying man- to provide relief to his body and to comfort his widowed wife and children. He is faithful to do all that He has promised.

I hope that you will take Kevin, Rachel, Jude and Evie with you into Christmas Day. Tell their story at your dinner table. Pray for them as you spend time with your own family. Don’t forget all that God has done in their lives and will continue to do. Don’t forget them in the days to come. This new stage will be harder than ever.

Let this courageous family and their story live through you. Let this change you. I am forever changed and absolutely convinced of God’s love and faithfulness to us EVEN when things don’t go the way we want. Oh, how He loves us.

For now, goodnight. I must sleep.

I don’t know when Rachel will write, but pray for her and the kids and all of those who have lost the presence of Kevin.

I stood in the aisles of Trader Joe’s, scanning the calorie counts of various foods, desperately trying to find foods that had the most calories per bite. I was sure that my husband just needed more calories to gain his strength back.

I didn’t know that the toxins that his liver was no longer removing from his body had already built up to the point that they had taken away his appetite.

One of the store associates teased me about calorie counting, saying that I certainly didn’t look like I needed to be watching my calories. He didn’t know that the reason I’d lost so much weight was because I’d spent the last two years helping my husband fight an exhausting battle with cancer. And that we seemed to be losing.

Countless cross country flights we took where people were gruff with others and others extended us mercy and grace. No one knew the weariness and exhaustion we carried in our hearts.

Friends comment on how independent our children are, and many don’t know that it’s because they have had to learn to be, having been bounced around between friends and neighbors and folks they barely knew, while I took Kevin on countless doctor’s appointments and ER trips.

When Jude and I snuck Daddy out of the hospital for lunch, we didn’t know it would be our last trip to the beach with him. But I’m glad it was a great one.

When I wrote a post like this one, I didn’t know that my words would give a friend struggling with the pain of lupus and rheumatoid arthritis the inner strength to keep soldiering on.

When Jude squirreled away some of our hope postcards in his backpack and then dropped one of them on the floor at church, he didn’t know that the words on that card “Thank you for giving us hope” would speak words of comfort to a stranger who had stepped out of the church service and sought refuge in the ladies’ restroom.

The day I wrote the first post, “The C word”, I never knew the lengths to which Kevin and I would go to fight, the miles that we would travel, and the number of lives that our story would touch.

And last night, when I was driving down to the airport to pick up two of my best friends who have come to stand beside me as I watch my husband die, I pondered these things. I pondered the number of people who have dug deep down into their own souls and wrestled with God in ways I can only imagine. People who have begun to dialogue with God and ask Him the tough questions, like why the hell is this happening. And knowing that God can more than handle it and that He is overjoyed to be hearing from His precious children.

I thought about the doctors and nurses and caregivers who wept as they watched our children, dressed in their tiny scrubs, crawl up onto a hospital bed to snuggle with their father, and went home thinking about how our children were neither sorrowful nor afraid, and how could that be.

I thought about all the ways that God has stretched and grown Kevin and me, and the ways that He has instilled an amazing compassion and empathy in our children. I thought about all the ways that God has stirred the hearts of so many to provide for our little family in truly supernatural ways, and the people who have watched it all and shaken their heads, trying to make sense of it all. I thought of the people who have begun again to speak to the One who created them and loves them beyond all imagination, if even only to yell at him and hurl rocks and cry out to Him “Why?!” And how God can take it ALL and is wrapping His arms around them whether they believe in Him or not.

I thought of how surprised Kevin will be at how packed the church will be when we gather to celebrate his memory, both here and in Atlanta, and for the thousands upon thousands of people who have been touched by his life and his story.

I thought about our sorrow that our children will grow up without a father, but already see how their pain connects them with the greater suffering of the world and how their joy and perspective will be a source of light in my life.

I thought on all of these things, and for a moment, just maybe even a second, I saw it from God’s perspective and I thought,

“It’s a fair trade.”

Kevin loves to play poker, and was always talking about how it’s not a game of chance (he hates games of chance). He would always tell me, “Why would the same people be at the world poker championships every year.” He said it’s about playing the hand you’re dealt as well as you possibly can. So I tried to find a good poker metaphor to wrap this up.

“Life is not always a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes playing a poor hand well.” -Jack London

I will never say that Kevin’s death is God’s will. This was NEVER the way it was supposed to be. And why it’s happening and how God can be all good and all powerful and still not stop this is a mystery that many of us will grapple with for years to come, myself included.

But.

I do believe… that NONE of this is a surprise to God. It was not just luck or chance. God may have not dealt Kevin and me this hand, but he knew exactly which cards we would receive.

We did our best, we played a shitty hand as well as we could.

As I watch my husband decline, and see already how pieces of him have left this earthly place, I am finally ready to think back on Job. Many have compared our trials to those of Job’s, especially when so many crazy things have happened, like trees falling on our house and stuff. Both Kevin and I took that reference very seriously though, and would never be willing to make that comparison. Go back and read the story of Job and ALL the suffering that he endured, and you’ll understand why we would constantly say that this doesn’t even compare. And yet, the words of Job come to mind as I see my husband no longer able to care for his bodily functions, no longer able to communicate verbally, sleeping off and on for short amounts of time, but greater amounts overall, much like a newborn.

I think of Job as he tore his clothing and shaved his head and dropped to his knees.

“Naked I came from my mother’s wound, and naked I shall return. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Is the Lord’s name blessed? Do I feel that? Do I truly believe it? I don’t know right now. I know that I will miss my husband so terribly and that, while I feel peace and surrender today, there will be many many moments where I feel I cannot even breathe. And even more when those very words will cause me to hurl obscenities at God for allowing me to endure such pain.

At Kevin’s uncle’s funeral, his cousin played the song, “The Gambler” I know it may not make sense to many, but Kevin would probably agree with me that it’s a fitting end to this rambling post.

On a warm summer’s evenin’ on a train bound for nowhere,
I met up with the gambler; we were both too tired to sleep.
So we took turns a starin’ out the window at the darkness
‘Til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, “Son, I’ve made my life out of readin’ people’s faces,
And knowin’ what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.
So if you don’t mind my sayin’, I can see you’re out of aces.
For a taste of your whiskey I’ll give you some advice.”

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.
Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.
And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.
Said, “If you’re gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.
There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.

Now Ev’ry gambler knows that the secret to survivin’
Is knowin’ what to throw away and knowing what to keep.
‘Cause ev’ry hand’s a winner and ev’ry hand’s a loser,
And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”

So when he’d finished speakin’, he turned back towards the window,
Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.
And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even.
But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em,
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.
There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.

I stood in the aisles of Trader Joe’s, scanning the calorie counts of various foods, desperately trying to find foods that had the most calories per bite. I was sure that my husband just needed more calories to gain his strength back.

I didn’t know that the toxins that his liver were no longer removing from his body had already built up to the point that they had taken away his appetite.

One of the store associates teased me about calorie counting, saying that I certainly didn’t look like I needed to be watching my calories. He didn’t know that the reason I’d lost so much weight was because I’d spent the last two years helping my husband fight an exhausting battle with cancer. And that we seemed to be losing.

Countless cross country flights we tookwhere people were gruff with others and others extended us mercy and grace. No one knew the weariness and exhaustion we carried in our heart.

Friends comment on how independent our children are, and many don’t know that it’s because they have had to learn to be, having been bounced around between friends and neighbors and folks they barely knew, while I took Kevin on countless doctor’s appointments and ER trips.

When Jude and I snuck Daddy out of the hospital for lunch, we didn’t know it would be our last trip to the beach with him. But I’m glad it was a great one.

When I wrote a post like this one, I didn’t know that my words would give a friend struggling with the pain of lupus and rheumatoid arthritis the inner strength to keep soldiering on.

When Jude squirreled away some of our hope postcards in his backpack and then dropped on of them on the floor at church, he didn’t know that the words on that card “Thank you for giving us hope” would speak words of comfort to a stranger who had stepped out of the church service and sought refuge in the ladies’ restroom.

The day I wrote the first post, “The C word”, I never knew the lengths to which Kevin and I would go to fight, the miles that we would travel, and the number of lives that our story would touch.

And last night, when I was driving down to the airport to pick up two of my best friends who have come to stand beside me as I watch my husband die, I pondered these things. I pondered the number of people who have dug deep down into their own souls and wrestled with God in ways I can only imagine. People who have begun to dialogue with God and ask Him the tough questions, like why the hell is this happening. And knowing that God can more than handle it and that He is overjoyed to be hearing from His precious children.

I thought about the doctors and nurses and caregivers who wept as they watched our children, dressed in their tiny scrubs, crawl up onto a hospital bed to snuggle with their father, and went home thinking about how our children were neither sorrowful nor afraid, and how could that be.

I thought about all the ways that God has stretched and grown Kevin and me, and the ways that He has instilled an amazing compassion and empathy in our children. I thought about all the ways that God has stirred the hearts of so many to provide for our little family in truly supernatural ways, and the people who have watched it all and shaken their heads, trying to make sense of it all. I thought of the people who have begun again to speak to the One who created them and loves them beyond all imagination, if even only to yell at him and hurl rocks and cry out to Him “Why?!” And how God can take it ALL and is wrapping His arms around them whether they believe in Him or not.

I thought of how surprised Kevin will be at how packed the church will be when we gather to celebrate his memory, both here and in Atlanta, and for the thousands upon thousands of people who have been touched by his life and his story.

I thought about our sorrow that our children will grow up without a father, but already see how their pain connects them with the greater suffering of the world and how their joy and perspective will be a source of light in my life.

I thought on all of these things, and for a moment, just maybe even a second, I saw it from God’s perspective and I thought,

“It’s a fair trade.”

Kevin loves to play poker, and was always talking about how it’s not a game of chance (he hates games of chance). He would always tell me, “Why would the same people be at the world poker championships every year.” He said it’s about playing the hand you’re dealt as well as you possibly can. So I tried to find a good poker metaphor to wrap this up.

“Life is not always a matter of holding good cards, but sometimes playing a poor hand well.” -Jack London

I will never say that Kevin’s death is God’s will. This was NEVER the way it was supposed to be. And why it’s happening and how God can be all good and all powerful and still not stop this is a mystery that many of us will grapple with for years to come, myself included.

But.

I do believe… that NONE of this is a surprise to God. It was not just luck or chance. God may have not dealt Kevin and me this hand, but he knew exactly which cards we would receive.

We did our best, we played a shitty hand as well as we could.

As I watch my husband decline, and see already how pieces of him have left this earthly place, I am finally ready to think back on Job. Many have compared our trials to those of Job’s, especially when so many crazy things have happened, like trees falling on our house and stuff. Both Kevin and I took that reference very seriously though, and would never be willing to make that comparison. Go back and read the story of Job and ALL the suffering that he endured, and you’ll understand why we would constantly say that this doesn’t even compare. And yet, the words of Job come to mind as I see my husband no longer able to care for his bodily functions, no longer able to communicate verbally, sleeping off and on for short amounts of time, but greater amounts overall, much like a newborn.

I think of Job as he tore his clothing and shaved his head and dropped to his knees.

“Naked I came from my mother’s wound, and naked I shall return. Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

Is the Lord’s name blessed? Do I feel that? Do I truly believe it? I don’t know right now. I know that I will miss my husband so terribly and that, while I feel peace and surrender today, there will be many many moments where I feel I cannot even breathe. And even more when those very words will cause me to hurl obscenities at God for allowing me to endure such pain.

At Kevin’s uncle’s funeral, his cousin played the song, “The Gambler” I know it may not make sense to many, but Kevin would probably agree with me that it’s a fitting end to this rambling post.

On a warm summer’s evenin’ on a train bound for nowhere,I met up with the gambler; we were both too tired to sleep.So we took turns a starin’ out the window at the darkness‘Til boredom overtook us, and he began to speak.

He said, “Son, I’ve made my life out of readin’ people’s faces,And knowin’ what their cards were by the way they held their eyes.So if you don’t mind my sayin’, I can see you’re out of aces.For a taste of your whiskey I’ll give you some advice.”

So I handed him my bottle and he drank down my last swallow.Then he bummed a cigarette and asked me for a light.And the night got deathly quiet, and his face lost all expression.Said, “If you’re gonna play the game, boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em,Know when to walk away and know when to run.You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.

Now Ev’ry gambler knows that the secret to survivin’Is knowin’ what to throw away and knowing what to keep.‘Cause ev’ry hand’s a winner and ev’ry hand’s a loser,And the best that you can hope for is to die in your sleep.”

So when he’d finished speakin’, he turned back towards the window,Crushed out his cigarette and faded off to sleep.And somewhere in the darkness the gambler, he broke even.But in his final words I found an ace that I could keep.

You got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em,Know when to walk away and know when to run.You never count your money when you’re sittin’ at the table.There’ll be time enough for countin’ when the dealin’s done.

Kevin was released from the hospital yesterday afternoon and took a ride on an ambulance all the way home. He arrived in very high spirits and was thrilled to be in his own place and in his new hospital bed. We enjoyed a very busy evening of friends and family all around. Jude and Evie opened a few very special presents and Kevin was physically and mentally more present than he has been in days. It was such a blessing. But we knew not to expect that to last. Over a few hours the friends and family trickled out and I tucked Rachel and Kevin into bed. Kevin had a restless night with a few stretches of sleep. His awareness and cognitive abilities began to wane almost immediately once everyone went home. I was able to care for his needs fairly well on my own, but I could tell that would come to an end soon as he was becoming less stable and less strong.

In the morning, Rachel climbed into bed with me and said, “I know we haven’t talked about this, but you are not allowed to stay here for Christmas. You have to go home, be with your family and get some rest.” She knew that I was questioning if I should stay and that if I stayed or went home it would be a difficult choice. So, again, she gave me grace and decided for me.

It was then that it hit us, I was leaving tomorrow morning, and she HAD to have help. Rachel has cared for her husband for over 2 years during their journey of treatment. She has watched him fight a very hard battle and fought alongside him. And now she is watching him slowly diminish and some day soon, go home to be with the Lord. She simply can notstay up all night and care for his needs. She can not walk him to the bathroom, change his sheets, alter his pillow placement, get him beverages, help him eat – all while grieving. It is beyond difficult to watch him slowly go – she simply can not manage that care as well. And honestly, I can’t bear the thought of her having to do so.

Rachel is asking for your help. The help we need, especially at night, is for someone to be here at the house to tend to Kevin’s needs and allow him (and her) dignity to manage through the next few days or weeks – however much time the Lord grants him. Kevin is 6″, so our preference is a strong person who can help him get in and out of bed and walk to and from the bathroom (so long as he is able).

If you can take a shift (2 hours, 8 hours, whatever you can do) or know someone who can, contact Sarah Thomas to volunteer and we will add you to the schedule. Dates are now through the evening of 12/26. You can contact Sarah via Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/mrs.sarah.thomas.

This will not be an easy task. Cognitively Kevin is aware and able to respond about 10 – 20% of the time and while he can walk, he is somewhat unstable. This is a HUGE request, we know that, and we hope there are some of you who can be here for Rachel and Kevin in one of he hardest moments you can imagine.

Rachel here. Thank you all so much for your continued prayers and support.

I just still can’t believe this is happening. It’s so horrible and so surreal at the same time. The docs said that at least liver failure is a peaceful way to go, you just get more and more dreamy and sleepy. Still, I’m honestly terrified of what will happen next.

I was not prepared for the cognitive decline caused by the liver (hepatic encephalopathy). And in his moments of clarity, he still says he wants to fight! So what do you do?

I still pray for a miracle. I still believe God could work one. But He’s not.

I honestly can’t do anymore of this getting my hopes up though. It’s just too hard on my heart.

Docs said it could be a matter of days or a couple of weeks. I’m praying so hard now it goes quickly and please Lord, don’t let him die on Christmas or Evie’s birthday (1/1). I don’t know, I just don’t know.

So normally I would conclude this post with something encouraging about how we are still trusting and leaning on Him. But honestly, I’m just constantly telling my brain to stop thinking about it when I’m trying to think and rest. It’s happening. Whether I think about it or not. And that’s already more than I can handle. God? Is there still a miracle coming? You’re breaking my heart here.